


Paint Me, Love Me

by CatalystRedolent



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Other, painters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 21:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9788870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatalystRedolent/pseuds/CatalystRedolent
Summary: a prompt from my friend, because i asked her to drop any prompt about 'soulmate au and painters', then she wrote this :"where everytime someone touches a person for the first time they leave a paint-like mark and how thick the paint depends on their impact on the other person's life." then, "How about a person with so much marks wanted to erase a thick mark because it was a traumatic event, so they ask another person, who was a painter, to cover it up with real paint."thanks, friend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, no characters whatsoever because too lazy to edit, im sorry.

I looked at you with curiousness; with big sweater that engulfed your leaner body inside it like a cocoon and sling bags that was filled with sketchbooks, a wooden palette, little to huge brushes and, of course, acrylics. However, you looked pale and no paints were visible, you looked so pure and so clean. On the other hand, I looked horrendous, there were paints all over my arms, legs, body parts; some were thick enough to make people whispered around me.

Your paintings always made people go awed. The art teachers always praised you so highly, but you just nodded and left. I once examined your painting; you did use a lot of gloomy colors, didn’t you? But then, I realized that there was not just gloomy colors that you always used; there were some little light colors that you used, so little that I had to squint to see it.

There was always light in there, although just a flicker; _there was always hope_.

So, here I was, standing in front of your so-called studio; it was school’s property but the one who always used it until evening was just you. I knocked and breached in, like some kind of psycho. You were surprised, brush stopped in the middle with the tip covered in navy blue acrylic. You raised a brow as if it was natural and went back to your painting; grays, blacks, and dark blues, with a little white as a complement. “Well, good ev–”

“Can you draw my arms?” I blurted out quickly, breath hadn’t evening out but still trying.

You blinked and stared at my arms, covered in colors and bracelets. I closed the door with my foot and watched as you sighed and stood up, leaving your painting unfinished and grabbing a pair of heavy leather gloves to cover your hands. You sat again, patting the stool in front of you and murmured, “Come here.” I obliged obediently and watched as you grabbed some pastel colored acrylics and squeezed some to the palette. You took my hand, gently, and grabbed your brush, a thin one, dipping the bristles to one of the colors on your palette.

And you began.

 

The finished product was amazing, it was a pretty sunset in pastel and you drew it on the both of my hands. You nodded at the result and turned the corner of your lips upwards, cleaning the remains quickly before packing your things. You slung your bag on one shoulder and gave me a silver key, the back of your hand was covered with navy splotches of paints, dark and thick. You pointed at the door silently and I nodded, knowing what to do. You huffed and went away, closing the door quietly behind you, your boots made a slow _srk srk_ sound against the wooden floor.

I looked around, finding that most of your paintings covered most of the walls and floors; in the same color scheme that I found, _dark and gloomy_. But then, something caught my eyes. The color scheme was lighter, lighter than the drawing you’ve done on my arms. It was not pastel, _it was light_. I was curious and pulled your other drawings, _dark and gloomy_ , away from it.

It was a person, with eyes closed and a smile stretched upon. They were like frozen in time and I caressed it, your initial was there with a heart and a _i love you_ on the bottom corner. _Who is this_ , I asked myself and examined it for a while. I didn’t believe that you painted it so I searched for a flaw, a single flaw, but there was none. It was flawless.

I wanted to search for the person.

 

I began talking to you and getting closer than you. The first time, you looked at me like I was a plague but now you just let me do anything to you and you just sighed when I did something idiotically. I began to open my heart to you when you traced my arms, my legs, my body parts, asking questions. I answered every single of them neatly, hoping that you would do the same, opening up for me. But you didn’t. You looked away and pointed at things when I began talking about your liking towards oversized sweaters.

I never realized that the navy, which colored the back of your hands, never disappeared.

 

You never let me inside your flat and drove me somewhere away from it, even if I begged you. So, one time, you were absolutely too careless and dropped your key, flat’s key, when you kissed me on the cheek and said goodbye to me; your parents called you to go home. I brought it to my flat, weighing whether I should went in or not. I sighed that night and decided not to go in.

You called me and informed that your grandma was on her deathbed so you have to be there for another two weeks. That was the time when I told myself to _fuck it_ and went in your flat.

The smell of paint overpowered my sense immediately and I relaxed, because it was your smell and I liked it. I turned on the lights and went to your room, examining the wallpaper that covered the room. I saw your bathroom, door closed tightly, and my curiousness bloomed dangerously. I went in front of the door and opened it, the taste of chemicals and such invaded my tongue and nose; which I covered almost immediately. The bathtub was closed with a pure white curtain and my heart went _thump-thump-thump_.

When I swung the curtain away, I swore I almost threw up.

Inside it, there was a single person, much like from the painting that I’ve seen months before. They were so pale like ghost and a smile grazed upon their cheeks. It was _not_ a smile, it was a mark made by a knife. The body was frozen and the actual lips were so blue, almost white.

“I’m pretty sure that I’ve told you not to go to my flat.”

I gasped and turned around, seeing you smiled and it dawned me when I examined the smile. It was a very sad one, there were tears on your eyes. You passed me and sat on the toilet’s lid, looking over to the frozen body.

“This is my soulmate,” you began, caressing the cold, _cold_ cheeks in a gentle way. “My abusive soulmate.” I watched you, couldn’t speak anything, as you took off your huge sweater and showed me your arms, your _torso_ ; _navy blue was everywhere_. You combed your hair away and smiled at me, “You see, these marks thickened almost impossibly when I killed my soulmate and froze him over; scratching his cheeks to make him finally smiled.”

You looked over to the bathtub again, “At me.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you looked at me, breathing ‘sorry’ all over again and stopped when I pulled you into my embrace. I touched your skin and saw the navy blue faded, into blood red. And I smiled as I pecked your hair and heard you sobbed.

Because, _now_ , you’re my precious.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this while listening to Troye Sivan's Blue Neighborhood, dont judge.


End file.
